Tit, Tat, Jingle
by Thousand Sunny Lyon
Summary: Theme challenge: 1000-2000 word humor fic featuring Roy, a bell, and revenge. Pure crack, completely legal, no kitties were harmed in the making of this fic but sadly we lost the chicken; enjoy.


**Disclaimer:** If I owned FMA, Havoc would be chased by every dog he came across... including Doggie!Nina.

**Tit, Tat, Jingle**

The two men engaged in an ocular showdown across the cluttered space of what the lieutenant assumed to have once been the dining room.

"A lot of this is based on supposition, Mustang. Too many things could go wrong." One hand tucked under his arm, he brushed at his unkempt scruff of a beard in agitation.

Colonel Mustang smiled his best, comforting, 'I have it all under control' smile, fooling no one in the dim room of its sincerity. "They already have, Dr. Knox. I'm trying to prevent it from growing worse."

"And if Ross actually did it?"

"I have measures in place, just in case."

"You have a man on the inside that can sneak her out under the nose of the tightest prison security in this country?"

"Outside. Very, very much on the outsi- Dammit, Knox, does she _have_ to be in here?"

Riza Hawkeye lifted her eyes from the scrap of paper containing the "shopping list" she had dutifully recorded throughout the discussion. Though she lifted a brow, she showed no indication that she thought the Colonel suggested her.

Mustang scowled down at the feline invader of his lap. The fluffy white cat looked behind her and curled her bushy tail into a perfect question mark that completely obscured the man's lips, creating a rather remarkable resemblance to General Grumman – if he had Xingese ancestry and a sudden onset of foul temper.

"_Mew_?" the cat seemed to inquire with a questioning inflection at the end. Perhaps the cat thought this was an improvement?

"Angelica was here first," Knox defended, folding his arms to admire the scene with a smug look on his lined face.

Mustang puffed the fluff from his mouth and waved the tail away, scowling deeper at the less than _stellar_ view she presented him with directly beneath the column of voluminous fur. He grunted and nudged the cat off his lap.

"_Prrrrow_," she trilled undeterred, and set about rearing up on her hind legs and brushing against his pant legs.

A small muscle twitched under one dark eye. Mustang crossed his legs and laced his gloved hands in his freed lap. "Anyhow, Hawkeye's new beau will be-"

"Colonel."

"-our trusted man on the 'outside' to get Ross into our custody," Mustang finished, unheeding.

"He is not my 'beau'," Hawkeye corrected, glaring at Mustang through her fringe.

"Why, Lieutenant, by definition he is," Mustang smirked, tilting his head in her direction.

The cat continued to brush against the Colonel's leg with a rumbling purr that carried across the room.

The blonde assistant tapped her pen against the side of the clipboard. It was a warning akin to a rattlesnake's rattle. This information was once posted on the break room cork board, the poster anonymous.

"I do not associate myself with deranged serial killers, sir."

"But it was by his undying adoration and love that allowed you to bring him into our custody in the first place, Lieutenant!" Grinning, Mustang lifted his laced fingers under his chin and batted his eyes in mimicry of Barry the Chopper's (failed) attempts to woo her.

Colonel Roy Mustang, it would seem, did not spot the memo.

The pen tapped harder. Knox watched it, wary and quiet.

"It's by your occasional visits that we keep him in line, and I hear the poem he wrote you made your heart race."

"I assure you it was entirely rage, sir."

"Make sure you save some of that blush for your lover, Lieutenant."

The pen spun in her hand.

Angelica stepped on the Colonel's knee and reached up for his attention. "_Purrrrow?_"

Distracted back on track, Mustang grunted and ignored that cat. "Well? Are you in, Dr. Knox?"

The older man shrugged and rose to his feet, knees snapping. "It'll be the Fuhrer himself if you can make it convincing enough."

The Colonel and Lieutenant took the cue and gathered themselves together. Hawkeye hurried to memorize the short list of gory provisions and held it out in front of her by a corner once sure she had it down. A snap of gloved fingers burnt the evidence to oblivion without so much as a glance.

"Then I'll see you when the curtain rises," the alchemist said with a glib smile. He turned away, hands stuffed into his pockets, suave and mild in manner, to exit the untidy home with a flourish for an unseen audience.

What happened next would forever be filed away in a part of their minds every participant wished they could label "DO NOT OPEN- UNLESS DRUNK".

"Urk!" Mustang lurched forward with a panicked expression pulling his eyes unnaturally wide. The firm _thud_ of a boot followed as he tried and failed to regain his footing around the affectionate cat at his feet; his arms pinwheeled and caught a mountainous stack of aged newspapers which fell atop himself and a cat a full three sizes larger than Hawkeye remembered. The frightened feline scrambled without gaining purchase on the wood flooring before her claws caught something and Angelica shot off into the shadows of Knox's home before the cascade of papers aged to a coffee-stained yellow took her to an early grave. How undignified that would have been.

"_Dammit_, Knox!" Mustang roared, pushing up from the ground, newsprint sliding off from all sides. He shook his head at Hawkeye's offered hand and clambered to his feet on his own. "If I catch that cat, we're having Xingese for dinner!"

Hawkeye dropped her hand and blanched. Whether the threat was true or not, it would be a long time before she could stomach her favorite Orange Chicken again.

Knox stood with arms folded, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>Noon. No bells struck, but by some ingrained inner sense everyone knew it was the lunch break and disappeared like leaves in a strong wind. Four souls remained behind to enjoy a bit of quiet. Havoc reclined in his seat, mouthing an unlit cigarette. The smaller and least decorated man, Fuery, slumped back in his seat and wound a coppery wire into a neat stack. Breda sat at his desk, his temple resting against his fist. Mustang, meanwhile, sat at his desk with a folder open before him, but he was making slow progress.<p>

The door swung open with the crackle of paper bags. The Lieutenant swept through the door, stopped, pulled it closed with her boot heel and moved on to Mustang's desk. "Here, sir." She left a large brown bag on the side of Mustang's desk and moved on to continue her deliveries to the rest of her teammates, barely slowing. "Chopsticks are in the bag."

Roy cut his eyes towards the bag then back to the paper in front of him. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he commented softly before turning the page over and sliding it beneath the folder.

The smell of food hit Fuery and Breda and they perked up, both pairs of eyes following the blonde as she returned from Mustang's desk. Havoc's lips tugged into a small smirk and after pulling the cigarette from between his teeth, he placed it behind his ear and sat forward. "That was quick work, Hawkeye."

"Oh, I know my rounds by now, Lieutenant Havoc," Hawkeye answered as placid as a mountain lake, pulling out each paper-wrapped package handing them out according to the writing on each. "That, and the deli man knows me. He made us the usual sandwiches and threw in the deli's trademark sausage slices for half the price. It smelled good- ah, no banana peppers, this one's yours, Sergeant Feury- and had an interesting seasoned orange color, I thought you'd like that."

The young man grinned as he grabbed his bag and opened it, sighing contently when he inhaled the scent of the still warm food within. "So, the Colonel was the only one brave enough to try the new noodle place?" With a loud crinkle of the paper bag, Mustang placed the two small cartons within on the edge of his desk.

"Yes he was." The last carefully wrapped package at the bottom was her own. She sat down, pulled up the tape holding it closed and opened her warm deli submarine sandwich with a deep, slow intake of breath. Much more at ease, she continued, "Yes, they promised the most authentic Xingese food this side of the desert and the Colonel couldn't resist. 'Homestyle food for Easterners' he called it. Perhaps it will help him recall old times." She took a bite of the stacked sandwich with fresh baked bread and closed her eyes to take the time to enjoy every nuance of flavor. After swallowing, "Western food suits me just fine, thanks."

"Although, I was four the last time I had authentic Xingese." Mustang inserted. The restaurant chopsticks broke apart with a soft snap and Mustang opened the first carton. Steam rose from the container and the colonel inhaled the scent of vegetables.

Breda unwrapped his sandwich and spread the wax paper across the surface of his desk. "You've cooked that stuff before, I remember your house smelling like it a few days later."

"Because I don't have a proper steamer," the officer defended before taking the first bite of the broccoli mix.

Feury nodded fast, tucking a bit of lettuce back into his sandwich. "The Colonel's uniform smelled of cabbage and odd spices. One of the secretaries refused to come near him. I'd never heard of a cabbage allergy before."

"You learn something new everyday, I suppose," Hawkeye commented, but her mind was on biting that slice of pepperoni before it slipped out from the bun and made a break for it on her desk.

Mustang opened the second container, stirred the noodle and chicken mix with the chopsticks and brought large piece of meat to his mouth. He sampled it and nodded to himself. "Not bad." Gripping a few noodles, he tugged it out of the carton and blinked at one very unusual noodle dangling at the end of his chopsticks. One noodle in the bunch, while covered in sauce, was wide, flat, and slightly... pink? "What the _hell_?" Roy muttered to himself.

_Jingle._

Food wasn't supposed to make that sound.

_Jingle jingle._

His eyes traveled downward. There, halfway down the string of noodles and dripping with soy sauce was a small, golden bell. The alchemist's eyes widened.

Feury froze mid-bite, his eyes widening over the top of his bun. A pickle slowly slid out from the hoagie and slapped on his wax paper.

Noting the change in atmosphere, Hawkeye glanced over to her Colonel's desk and began coughing and gasping for breath. "C-Colonel," she managed, her throat stinging. "You weren't kidding about it being authentic Xingese!"

It began as snickers but soon erupted into loud guffaws as the other men lost all sense of propriety.

The food, chopsticks and all, was shoved back into the bag and both boxes were pushed off the desk into the garbage can. Visibly green around the gills, he swiveled in his chair and kicked the entire mess away, sending the waste basket sliding across the floor. "Someone take out the trash," he ordered, then turned away from it with an arm around his middle and rubbed his forehead.

It was a good thing Hawkeye thought to stop by the pet store on the way to the noodle shop.

**AN:** Revenge is a dish best served jingly!

Theme challenge: 1000-2000 word humor fic featuring Roy, a bell, and revenge. Participants: Disastergirl, Mebh, MegamiZe, Sammyquill, muhself, and anyone that wants to join in.

Late? Bah. I went shopping until the stores closed yesterday then nursed a headache all night long and couldn't get to sleep until noon, then slept 'till five. Then took **all night** failing to find a good title amid other distractions.

Many due thanks to HayakuGaki for helping me imagine how this came about and describe Roy's response, thus finishing this fic. She remains my muse.


End file.
